


The Difference a Rabbit Can Make

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, M/M, Mystery, Professor Draco Malfoy, Reluctant Partners, Slytherin, Student OCs - Freeform, Unspeakable Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: When a clueless student is cursed by an unknown, missing object, Professor Malfoy finds himself in over his head. As much as Draco hates to admit it, they do not have the correct expertise. The school has no other choice but to call in an Unspeakable for help. Draco was not prepared for Harry Potter to turn up on their doorstep the very next day.





	The Difference a Rabbit Can Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeWitty1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeWitty1/gifts).



> To DeWitty. I hope you enjoy this. I think I managed to hit some of your requests, but may have missed the mark on quite a few others. Either way, I hope you at least smile a little while reading thing. Full A/N for you directly is on the LJ page. x
> 
> Thanks to our HD Glomp Fest 2019 mod as well, who was very patient and always answered any silly questions I had. Thanks for all your hard work.

_ 'Changing into a bird is pretty hard, or so some people say. Others think it is easy,'’ _ a fifth year's mock exam begins. Draco intuitively knows he will be reading four full scrolls of bullshit disguised as purple prose for the next hour and wonders if he should take a trip down to the kitchens before he gets started; a slice of Victoria Sponge and a fresh brew of tea sound like heaven right now.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and glances at the grandfather clock ticking away merrily in the back corner of his office. Alas, no time; he has less than ten minutes before his tutorial with an academically challenged first year. It's not the poor kid’s fault his pureblood parents would rather he be a quidditch champion than passing his classes because he doesn’t know what a library is, but either way Draco is the one with no free time and one more thing he needs to do.

When a light tapping disturbs him only a few minutes later, he drops his quill immediately. Relief flows through him so swiftly he doesn't even blink at the splattering of red ink that dots onto the scroll.

"Professor?" a small voice titters through the door, which strikes him as odd, because the student he is supposed to be meeting is brash and male and bold enough that he might not have bothered knocking at all.

Anthia Dearmop slides his office door open as little as humanly possible while still managing to peer in with one eye. "Professor?" she says again, if possible , even quieter. Draco finds it vaguely amusing that she seems to think he is the scariest thing who has or will ever roam Hogwarts' halls.

"Enter," he replies gently, otherwise it's likely she'll wait outside his door until he trips over her on his way down to dinner. The door inches open until her whole head pokes through. "How can I help you, Anthia? You should know I don't have long; I'm meeting with Cluedo soon. If you need help with the assignment too I'll need you to make an appointment."

She bites her lip in reply. She’s a wee little thing, cute as a button and about as unassuming. She's dangerous with a greenhouse though, even for a first year, and Draco would bet she'll make a good potioneer if she can work on her confidence. For now, though, she's a fine addition to Hufflepuff's house.

"Well, sir, you see." Her teeth grind into her lip again. "That's the thing. Something's...um...happened."

Draco sits straighter in his comfortable chair. If a student is in need it is his duty to see to their aid. As the deputy Headmaster, head of Slytherin and Professor of Transfigurations at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he takes his duties very seriously. "What's wrong?" He uses his gentlest voice to coax her into his office.

Instead, she thrusts a rather upset rabbit without a tail towards him. It scrabbles unhappily in her tight grip.

He freezes the eyebrow threatening to climb up his forehead and crosses his hands atop his desk instead. Then he realises that's something Dumbledore would have done and sits back instead. "Miss Dearmop?"

"I think this  _ is _ Cluedo, sir," Anthia says sincerely, her chin dipped and the dishevelled rabbit held at arm's length.

"Care to explain how you came to that conclusion?" Draco asks, relaxing a little in his chair. While it's true that many things are possible in the magical world, it's also true that first years have beautifully creative imaginations.

She takes in a deep breath. "He went off exploring on the sixth floor  _ hours _ ago. I knew he had a meeting so I went looking for him." Tears well in her eyes and she suddenly clutches the poor rodent to her chest. It's scrabbling intensifies for a second, then it seems to give up altogether and goes limp. Draco fears it will suffocate if things carry on this way, but she eases her hold on the creature and sways with it cuddled in her arms instead. One of its ears pricks up and Draco is satisfied she won't accidentally kill it.

He nods encouragingly.

"He was down the Northern corridor in a storage room."

Draco tries not to let her see his frown at that. That wing houses some of the oldest magical objects in the castle. Objects deemed too valuable or dangerous to be available to the students, but of no interest to the ministry. Draco thinks, if there is any truth to this, that perhaps Cluedo Moggins has more talent with Charms than he's been letting on, because the wards should have turned him away before he reached the corridor, let alone tried to unlock the first of three doors.

"I found this little guy hopping up a storm inside a bronze-plated cauldron." (Draco hopes it didn't scratch one of Merlin's most prized possessions.) A single tear drips down her face and plops heavily onto the rabbit's nose. "His clothes were all bundled up in the bottom and it still had his scarf on." A wheeze chokes up her throat. "And it hasn't got a tail," she wails. "Cluedo doesn't have a tailbone!"

Draco expects her to drop to her knees in emotional turmoil. Her knees quiver, but she holds fast.

Draco slips his wand seamlessly from its holster and summons a large cage beside his desk. This is not the time for him to panic.

"All right, Miss Dearmop. Bring him here and we'll see what we can do."

Her lips quivers. "So you can fix him?"

Draco doesn't know actually, but it's not like he can tell a student that. He gestures to the cage instead to avoid outright lying to her.

 

An hour later, he sends Anthia off to fetch the Headmistress. There is still a rabbit thumping its foot in a cage on his office floor. Draco lets himself pout as she leaves, then remembers there's still a student with him who may or may not remember everything when he's returned to normal. He slides his professional mask back into place.

Transfiguration spells alone haven't made a spot of difference. Nor have the reversal or completion spells. It's unlikely even an unsuspecting first year would be idiotic enough to drink a random potion just because it was in front of him, so he thinks it's safe to rule that out. In all likelihood, it's a cursed object they need to find.

Draco tells McGonagall as much when she strides through his door. She stares sternly at him, then the rabbit, then strides back out.

For a second, Draco mourns the loss of his job, then her clipped voice wafts back towards him. "Coming, Professor Malfoy?" 

He breathes again. Right, they need to find it not stand around gossiping like dusty old pureblood gossips at Midsummer.

It takes mere minutes for them to reach their destination at the breathtaking pace she leads him with. This includes four floors, several lengthy corridors and a reroute through the library when the staircases decide to be uncooperative. Suffice to say, Draco feels incredibly unfit by the time he catches up with her in the storage room.

It is crowded and smells of damp in here, but if he tries to peer through the eyes of an adventurous twelve year old he can see it has appeal. So many exciting nooks and crannies to explore. The danger of the forbidden and the possibility of being caught. Merlin’s cauldron is smaller than most people would expect, snuggled against the far corner near a glass-fronted bookcase. It is not large or particularly awe-inspiring unless you know of its historical worth. A sturdy bronze-plated cauldron with simple yet intricately metal-worked handles like plaited vines. McGonagall stands forebodingly over it now, daring it to offend her.

"The ministry should be informed of this," McGonagall states, sounding like that is exactly the last thing she wants to do. Although the school has been on better terms with the ministry for the last five years or so, since the latest Minister took over, McGonagall has remained suspicious of their every move.

Staring down into the glittering void swirling in the wall beside Merlin's modest but mighty cauldron, though,  Draco can't help but agree.

They need an Unspeakable.

 

They do not need an Unspeakable. 

They would have been absolutely  _ fine _ without one. Draco's certain they could have muddled through.

Above all, Potter, whom is currently lounging on his office sofa and looking deeply unimpressed, is definitely not what they need. Especially,  _ especially _ , when he's being a patronising little prick. 

Draco sorely wishes the sight of him didn’t still set his heart beating a little faster than normal, so he could snarl sarcastically at him like he would have in the old days before he developed his unfortunate crush.

It's ironic that they do seem to agree on this one thing. Slipping his wand back into his sleeve after Draco has grudgingly relayed all he knows, Potter says, "So what am I doing here? If you were desperate enough for ministry involvement, surely an auror would have done."

Draco grinds his teeth and jumps when McGonagall's voice sweeps through his door ahead of her. "The Professor agrees with you, Unspeakable Potter." She smiles proudly at Potter, and Draco suddenly realises he can't be jealous because she smiles at him like that all the time too. "But the Minister was clear. We're likely dealing with a complicated, if not outright dark, artifact."

Potter nods along with her, suddenly agreeable -- probably only trying to push Draco's buttons. "An Unspeakable is usually more prepared for stuff like that."

Draco restrains himself from childishly miming along to Potter's pompousness; he's above such things after all.

"This doesn't sound too complicated anyway," Potter continues, glancing down at poor Cluedo. For his sanity, Draco hopes the poor kid doesn't remember any of the details later. "Find the object, reverse the curse and contain it. We should probably close down the portal you've got in that store room as well; it was probably started by two or more things interacting that shouldn't have been."

Draco is one-hundred percent sure he could have told the Headmistress all of that, thank you very much, so what is he even doing here. "Thank you for that, Professor Ravenclaw," he says, trying for banter rather than biting and not sure he succeeds. "It's likely the object that cursed Cluedo fell through that portal, so we should start by finding where it leads." From Potter's raised eyebrow, Draco thinks he's conveyed sufficiently how little he thinks Potter needs to be here.

 

The entire tromp up to the sixth floor, Draco strains himself thinking of a clever solution to the problem. A way he can prove that Potter isn't needed, that he can scurry back to the bowels of the ministry. But for the life of him, he can't think of anything more clever than 'send a house elf through,' which he doesn't think a do-gooder like Potter would appreciate.

This makes for an absolutely outraged Professor Malfoy when Potter simply sends his patronus bounding through as if it's the most simple thing on the planet. In hindsight, it is and Draco should have thought of it himself before they reached the end of his corridor. Smug bastard. Rather than making a scathing remark like Draco expects, though, Potter smiles at him and reaches out to place a warm palm on his shoulder. Potter is blatantly pleased with himself -- and how can Draco argue with that when he was so right -- but there's no trace of smugness or a smirk that would have grated on Draco's nerves.

In fact, most of the bluster and prodding from his office has vanished like it was an act.Truthfully, Draco is a little grateful. Putting up a front these days, when he is so used to being himself, is near impossible.While he can be stern and quick to punish, Draco is fair. His short temper might still be intact, but he has earned his place as Deputy Head. It’s nice to know he isn’t the only one who has grown up in the last ten years.

It goes unsaid -- and actually Draco is eternally thankful Potter doesn't insult his intelligence with how dim-witted he's acting currently -- that they can't pass through the portal themselves. No organic matter that they know of has passed through, thus although an object and Potter's patronus may have gone through, it may not be safe for them.

They wait in awkward silence for Potter's patronus to come leaping through one of the walls to show them the way on foot. At some point, they both realise simultaneously that Potter’s hand is still on his shoulder and they startle apart. Draco attempts to keep his feet planted and his hands still, but he can't help jumping like he has been shocked when Potter's robes brush against the hem of his own. He hadn't realised they were still standing so close.

He shifts away uncomfortably on the pretense of inspecting the closed glass cabinet filled to bursting with old books Madam Pince has obviously determined unworthy of her library. One glance reveals nothing particularly malicious, but several Weasley Wizarding Wheeze Publication titles catch his attention.

The breath of Potter's low laughter on the back of his neck startles him  _ again _ . He makes a mental note to work on his reflexes; there was once a time when he didn't flinch at even his father calling his full name from the Dark Lord's side.

He dismisses the thought. Bad memories such as those are unwelcome in his new and happy, if a little lonely, life. This leaves him with Potter in a darkened storage room and the loud sound of their breathing. Perhaps he is uncomfortable for more than one reason presently.

 

Draco is convinced the universe is mocking him for the schoolboy crush that followed him through his early twenties. 

Okay, he's still got one of Potter's particularly good shots from an old interview tucked away in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. The one  _ everyone _ remembers when the Prophet obviously bartered a deal because Potter was disappearing into the bowels of the ministry.

His photo-self plays coy with the camera, staring demurely down at his contrastingly spread knees then peeking up at the camera for a split second every now and then. And, fine, he would frame it and hang it across from his bed if that wouldn't drag his head out from under the sand he  _ thought _ he had buried this particular desire in. But it's not like he's obsessed. It's not like he hasn't moved on. That crush was ten years ago.

But, really, someone needs to have a little chat with whoever's running the universe, because being inside no less than eighteen cupboards/storage rooms/offices/classrooms with Potter in a few short hours is really wreaking havoc with his senses. 

Draco is certain he's being played. 

Spending more than two minutes in those rooms fills Draco's nose with Potter's aftershave -- intoxicating and woodsy. He's always so warm at Draco's side and finding some reason to touch. And that damn stag Patronus that's leading them around the castle like they're hunting the lost werewolf of Shetland keeps staring at him balefully when it thinks he's not looking.

"We've been chasing your bloody stag around the castle for  _ hours _ . Are you sure this is right? I don't think it's working." Draco tries to keep the whine from his voice, but he hasn't been this constantly on his feet since he was a teaching assistant and had to take nearly every nighttime patrol.

"No, I think you're right, something's not right." He considers his patronus where it's glowing as spectacularly as ever and watching them from a corner of the room silently and completely still. "Go through one more time."

As before, it gallops away through the Northern door, only to appear seconds later this time through the Western wall. It throws its antlered head grandly back, indicating the direction it had come from.

"West now?" Draco groans.

"The void exit must be moving quickly." He plucks a pocket watch from inside the folds of his robes and waits for over a minute. Draco waits impatiently, folding his arms and tapping an index finger against his other forearm. Really, this is getting ridiculous now.

"Alright," Potter finally says looking up and nodding to his patronus like it's a cute pet he keeps around for company. "Go again."

The stag's ear twitches like it agrees with Draco's boredom before it bounds off again.

They wait for several minutes this time. Eventually, Potter wanders across the classroom and settles beside Draco on his dusty desk. Of course, Draco had wiped off half before sitting, but it obviously hadn't occurred to Potter to do the same. He can't wait to see the stain on his arse, if only for an excuse to look.

In the meantime, Draco wishes he had had the forethought to bring a book; saving a student's life and going on an investigative mission with an Unspeakable isn't turning out to be as glamorous as he expected. He doesn't even feel like he needs to be here. It's not like Potter needs babysitting; he knows his way around the castle, very well if rumours about his boyhood antics are to be believed. He has no specialist knowledge of use and Potter already seems to have found, or in this case created, a partner in the form of his own magic. But he also hasn't so much as suggested that Draco go back to his books and marking. There hasn't been a hint or an accidental sarcastic comment that Potter doesn't think Draco needs to be here.

It is disconcerting. 

Draco isn't used to being wanted. Even in the teacher's lounge only McGonagall talks to him on a social level and she oftens seems saddened by his pitiful state. Draco wonders often, sitting alone in his armchair by the corner while the other teachers gossip about the latest news from Hogsmeade, whether this is how Snape felt. Or perhaps he simply avoided the lounge whenever he was able to spare himself the humiliation. If only Draco had the excuse of potions needing additions or stirring to the exact second. Alas, marking and lesson plans can be put off for a long time and everyone else in that lounge knows it too.

It is nice to be welcome and wanted for once, and Draco can't help leaning back and planting his palms on the desk, ready to wait for however long it takes.

It takes him a second to realised Potter is copying his posture and smiling into the middle distance, his head slightly bowed His eyes flit away when Draco looks up. It reminds Draco of a blushing boy caught staring at his schoolyard crush. Oh.

"Oh," Draco breathes aloud.

"Hmmm?" Potter slides two of his long fingers beneath his glasses and rubs at where they naturally rest on his nose. Suddenly, all the casual touches of the past few hours make sense. The warmth of Potter’s little finger gentle resting against his own feels so much heavier suddenly.

"You're..." Draco isn't sure how to finish the statement without sounding childish. He curses his fair completion which must be showcasing how hot he feels on every inch of visible skin. He fights the urge to tug at the top of his robes when the collar starts to feel tight.

"I'm?" Potter asks, glancing down at his pocket watch -- to be fair, his patronus has been gone for a long time compared to every other try.

"Nevermind." Draco smiles to ease some of the tension, but then it feels frozen on his face and he feels more awkward than ever. Potter shifts uncomfortably beside him.

Circe must be trying to make up for all the times Draco has been tortured for the day, because Potter's patronus storms through the door at that second. If it were a living creature, Draco imagines it would be panting like the dogs of hell had chased it for a several miles. If patronuses can have expressions, this one certainly appears affronted and more than a little put out now.

Potter sighs. Draco gets the impression he's about to walk to the ends of the earth. Or at least the edge of Hogwarts' official grounds. He certainly hopes the void can't pass through the school wards.

"My patronus certainly isn't the fastest in the world," Potter says, brushing off his backside -- it's a shame his robes cover up the shape so much really, but at least it doesn't look suspicious when Draco glances down. "But it's not slow either. I'd guess we're going deep into the grounds this time."

"Perhaps it's getting tired," Draco snarks, because he's tired and just had a major life-altering revelation, or at least it feels that way.

To his great surprise, Potter actually laughs; a full-on guffaw rumbles up from his stomach as he leads Draco from the classroom on the heels of his stag. His fingers brush across Draco’s wrist this time. How could he have missed such a glaringly obvious play all day?

 

Even after logic tells him where they're going, it still feels like it takes forever to get there. The heavy silence does not help. Part of Draco wishes he'd had the courage to just tell Potter to ask him out if he liked him. The other is very much aware courage isn't his forte and he shouldn't try to be something he's not.

They approach the lake at a steady pace, but rather than leading them down to the shore Potter's patronus struts off to the right. Draco realises swiftly they are going all the way around to the base of one of the border mountains. 

There are only three of them and they probably don't classify as real mountains geographically, more like steep hills with treacherous terrain, but that's what everyone calls them. It's approaching dinner time and the sun is getting low in the sky making them rather picturesque across the abnormally still water of the lake. The giant squid must be snoozing.

"Hagrid would know all their names," Potter mutters.

Draco can't tell if it was meant for his ears or not, but he replies anyway. "He's away with the giants again. I haven't seen him around the castle in almost a year."

Potter nods, like he knows this already. It's obvious he misses his old friend.

"I heard he'll be back for Yuletide this year," Draco says consolingly.

The stag stops halfway to the mountain, gazes balefully into the trees to the West then vanishes. Potter's magic dissipates with the light breeze in seconds like breath ghosting on a cold day.

"It's done enough," Potter says, glancing over his shoulder at Draco. "Besides, I'm thinking we should reevaluate our strategy before we search the entire castle and grounds."

The same thought has been buzzing through Draco's mind for a while, but he'd been reluctant to cut his time with Potter short by suggesting it.

Potter shakes his head and strides towards the trees. 

Confident his presence isn't necessary, Draco settles himself on the shore of the lake. He charms the stones to cushion him and adds a light warming charm to his robes as he didn't have time to go back and grab his cloak. The evening is nice though, with just a little breeze sending the faintest of ripples skimming across the water.

Several minutes later, Potter sinks down next to him.

"Nothing." He checks his pocket watch again. Now that they are out in the light, Draco can see a faint symbol on the back; he'd bet good money it's an Unspeakable thing.

Potter fiddles with it for a little while, then seems to realise he's doing it and stashes it back inside the folds of his robes. Then he draws his legs up loosely to his chest, his shoes scraping the gravel loudly, and rests his forearms on his knees.

He must be converting out of Unspeakable mode. He suddenly seems more relaxed, his muscles going lax and posture drooping. The end of a work day, a job put on hold until they have a new plan of action.

"We'll try something else tomorrow," he mutters, scratching one stubbled cheek against his shoulder. Potter looks nice with stubble. Honestly, Draco finds him attractive most ways thought. He's not really an impartial judge.

They sit there until it does start to get cold and Draco recasts his warming charm, blanketing Potter as well because it's the polite thing to do.

"Thanks," Potter mumbles into his arm, where he's now resting his chin. He bites his lip, his gaze sliding across to Draco. His pupils are hidden behind the arms if his glasses, and Draco can't help feeling at a disadvantage because of it. "And I do, you know."

It takes a moment for Draco to understand what he's saying, then he doesn't dare to hope. Potter is not a cruel person -- in fact, he's the epitome of the exact opposite -- but there could be miscommunication here. Potter could be talking about something else.

"Do what?" Draco asks, trying to keep his voice soft and innocent, like he isn't hoping for a specific answer.

"Like you."

Draco can't help but smile at that old Gryffindor courage raising its head. It must be the first time in his life when it has benefited him.

Potter leans towards him, knocking their shoulders together. "I haven't tried to be subtle."

Although he hates to admit it, Draco replies, "I'm out of practice with the dating game." Then, because it is not part of his genetic makeup to leave himself vulnerable he continues with, "A few hundred children take up a lot of time."

Potter grins at him roguishly. "Me too. I literally spend ninety percent of my time underground." He slouches against Draco's side like they have been friends for years. "You know, McGonagall requested me? It was a relief to get out in the field to be honest. We don't get too many field assignments in my department; everything gets brought to us by a different specialised unit."

"I didn't know that. That she requested you, I mean."

Draco subtly leans back into his weight, wondering absently what his father would think if he could see him know. He's long since stopped caring exactly what Lucius Malfoy has to say about his life choices, but the look of outrage on his face might be comical enough to entertain.

He turns his face, grins into Potter's warm shoulder and murmurs softly, "I'm glad she did." Years of childcare has softened him, he thinks. Made him malleable and understanding in a way he never naturally should have been. It's probably why he finds caring for the youngest children easiest now.

Strong fingers, slightly rough from years of working them to the bone, slip beneath his chin and tilt his head up.

Then, lips press against his own. Soft. Firm. The kind of kiss schoolgirls dream of and whisper of, yearning for a first kiss to call perfect.

Of course, they are adults, though. As out of practice as Draco may be, this feeling never leaves you. The motion, the give and take, the physical closeness of it all comes back to him instantly. With Potter, too, it's easy. It feels like they've been kissing all their lives and yet at the same time it is a new experience exactly as a first kiss should be.

They find a perfect rhythm, lips and suddenly tongue without thought. Teeth when Draco feels like he is losing control.

His mouth tingles with sensation and sets his heart beating like a teenager discovering lust. The wetness of Potter's tongue stroking across his own leaves him breathless and panting. His fingers find Potter’s cheek and pull him to the angle Draco prefers.

This isn't what he imagined he'd be doing at sundown when he woke up this morning. In reality, the moment is far from perfect. Potter's glasses dig into his cheek and the pebbles under his palm are rough on his skin. His hair is falling into his eyes and it hurts where he has shut them. The wind now has a bite to it and the giant squid has woken up with a monstrous splash.

But to Draco, it is perfect. He won’t remember any of those things when he thinks back in years to come.

When he finally leans back, his lips feel soft and wet and hot like they haven't in a long time. He feels giddy and young again.

Harry Potter is sitting beside him with lips like rose petals speckled damp with dew and a smile full of promise.

Momentarily, Draco forgets that there's a kid in his office that has been cursed. Then, slowly, he comes back to himself and says, "We should go back for dinner," as if the deflection will protect the calm exterior he has crafted.

Potter nods, slightly, as if in a daze. "I must have started already by now."

They don't hold hands on their way back to the castle, but Draco wants to. One day they will.

Draco makes sure to pop back and cram some food in Cluedo's makeshift cage before dinner. The truth is he needs some time for himself to process what just happened.  

It would be suspicious if he didn't go down to dinner, though, and he has no reason to avoid Potter other than his own nerves.

He has nothing to worry about in the end. McGonagall has already whisked Potter away to a guest suite by the time he sits in his usual seat at the head table.

  
  


The next morning at breakfast, Potter pounces on him; although not in the way Draco’s heated dreams from the night before would wish.

“We’re going back up to the storage room,” Potter proclaims, snagging a buttered croissant from the table and tugging on Draco’s arm insistently like he hasn’t just sat down. Draco plucks his own breakfast pastry with nimble fingers whilst being dragged away bodily. Several students swerve out of their path with curious glances.

"Can you stop touching a sacred artifact!" Draco exclaims only minutes into Potter’s examination of the immediate area. Potter seems incredibly fascinated by the cauldron itself.

"Merlin's not around to slap my wrist," he mutters, bending down until his eyeline is level with the rim.

"McGonagall will do it for you if I tell her how you've been fondling it.”

“Fondling?” Potter gasps.

“Yes! Fondling!” Draco sighs and steps closer, trying not to stare at the way Potter’s body bends so easily. “What in the name of Hufflepuff's garden are you doing?”

From the way Potter’s fingers slide familiarly over the metal, Draco would think he had spent his whole life brewing. “I can feel something under the handle. Here, look.”

Draco crouches next to him. He’s not going to defile an ancient artifact, though, so has to contort himself rather gymnastically to see what Potter is indicating.. “So he added a personal embossment.” He shrugs, standing. Draco is pleased to find Potter’s eyes lingering.

“Does this strike you as the kind of thing that's mass produced?”

“Neither was my first wand, but I still loved the little groove kid me scratched into the handle just because it was mine and I could.”

Potter’s hands land on his hips stubbornly. "You think Merlin marked up his prized cauldron because he was petulant and he wanted to?”

“Not exactly in those words. Besides it wasn't anything special to him. If you'd read any history books you'd know he was a peasant sorcerer who spent his early years using that thing to brew healing potions for the poor.”

“It's a miracle pureblood society revered him so.” Potter rolls his eyes and turns back to his work.

“Well, he spent the rest of his life uniting Europe and its magics with his muggle king; purebloods like that kind of power.”

“I'm sure it was the kind of future your father had mapped out for you since birth.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter.” Draco picks at the dirt accumulating under his fingernails. “My father would never have expected me to spend my prime years doing something to charitable; not without any connections coming from it anyway.”

“Well, whatever it is feels like a specific shape. Animals are usually a thing in the wizarding world; they hold all kinds of power.” Something in his tone tells Draco he knows that from experience. Although, as an academic, Draco concurs. “A lizard maybe, or a snake?"

Draco almost wants to march straight out of the door then. “Please don't let it be a snake. Don't get me wrong I love my own house, but nothing good in this school has ever happened when snakes were involved. Even the snake on top of my mirror is a nightmare when I'm getting ready in the morning, cheeky bastard.”

Potter glances up at him through his fringe. “You won't like this then. I think I can feel a forked tongue. No legs. Probably a snake.” 

Suddenly, as if realising something that had obviously been staring them in the face the whole time, Potter snaps his hands away from the metal, holding them aloft in a universal sign of surrender. 

“Don't touch anything,” Potter breathes, slowly rising to his feet.

Draco resists the urge to lean against something, just to be petty. Potter’s gentle hand on the backs of his fingers sways him though. “We've been in here for over an hour rifling around; if we were going to be cursed too I think it would have happened by now.”

“My evaluation spells say the magic on this thing has been degrading gradually for centuries.” For some reason his voice is a near whisper, like he thinks the ghosts of the past are listening and might, at any second, come back and haunt them. “It's entirely possible it only had enough magic to execute the curse once before it ran out.”

“Please don't say 'execute' in reference to one of my students,” Draco says tartly.

“Yes, Professor.” Potter has the good grace to look a little ashamed. “I'm thinking the void has nothing to do with this case at all. What would you say if I postulated that this isn't actually Merlin's cauldron.”

Draco feels his forehead scrunch in the way his mother used to hate. From the way Potter brushes his fingers across Draco’s face distractingly, he would guess Potter finds it endearing. “It's true that it's highly unlikely Merlin would leave a curse on any of his property. It wasn't really his style. In fact,” and here Potter rolls his eyes like he's anticipating Draco is about to start lecturing for a solid hour, “he gave most of his worldly possessions to charitable causes. And wizarding schools, which is how we thought it had ended up here. Whose do you think it is then?”

“Given that there's a snake hidden under the handle, I'd say-”

“If you say Slytherin.”

“-it's probably Slytherin's.”

“Which would explain why it's cursed,” Draco agrees, nodding. That does make some logical sense.

“He was a suspicious old loon. This wouldn't be the first thing I've seen of his, not even considering the stuff from, you know, back then. We've had plenty of his old shit come into the Department over the years.” From the way he says it, Draco can sense his respect for his workplace and the capitalisation of its name. If he had to deal with half the dangerous stuff that goes on down there, Draco reckons he'd have respect for the place too. He'll stick with his nice cushy office and the dungeons of Hogwarts have always been home to him despite the slight draught in winter.

“So what do we do now?” he asks.

“Well, you can stop panicking for one,” Potter says, tapping at Draco's ear as he leads the way from the storage room. “We've got a stupid amount of data on how Slytherin worked . I'm reasonably sure I can come up with a counter curse without even heading back to the ministry for any research.”

“Without hurting Cluedo,” Draco states forcefully.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Unspeakables aren't known for being particularly caring.”

“Noted. Yes, without hurting the kid.”

“And then? If you can figure it out on your own, what then?” Draco carefully doesn't mention the kiss and tries not to think of his rising hopes.

Potter makes a thoughtful sound like he’s recalling some piece of procedure from deep in his memory. “Then we transport that cauldron to the Slytherin vault under the ministry.”

“He's got an entire vault?”

Potter hums noncommittally from deep in his throat, like he's not allowed to confirm it. His wide eyes say it was an accident that he mentioned it in the first place.

Draco catches his arm before Potter manages to burst through his office door. Just in case Cluedo does remember when he's back to normal or McGonagall is waiting to jump out at them from a dark corner.

“And then?” he asks, feeling terrible naive and lost.

Potter blinks down at where their skin touches then looks back up at him in an uncanny recreation of Draco's favourite hidden away photograph. His eyes shine with promise in the early evening light. He sidles closer and it occurs to Draco that this the second time in as many days where he has played the unsure damsel, which really doesn't suit his character. He usually prefers to be the aggressor; although he can hear Blaise and Pansy chortling at the back of his mind. 'Who are you kidding,' they would chuckle, 'you love to be wooed.' Which is true and might go some way to explaining why he's been alone for so long; no one has thought him worth the effort.

"And then," Potter murmurs, closer than Draco thought he was standing and bringing Draco back to the present, "we see where things go." He presses a chaste but lengthy kiss to Draco's temple as if placating his nerves. Annoyingly, it's working.

"You'd be open to..." Draco does a slow, flapping gesture with his spread hands that he isn't entirely sure what he means to encompass with.

Potter shakes his head minutely and it wafts a wave of that aftershave again. If Draco's sheets permanently smelled like that for the rest of his life, he thinks he might look forward to finishing work every day but his productivity in the mornings might drop significantly.

"I'd be _ very interested _ in exploring this.”

It occurs to Draco to wonder when Potter became so svelte. It's true they haven't seen one another in years, but Draco remembers a Potter who blushed at the thought of sex and stammered through a confession to Ginny Weasley. Now Draco is the inexperienced one who has been hiding away in the castle and refusing to socialise beyond his safe circle. And, to be sure, the thought _ (fantasy) _ of sleeping with Potter does make his cheeks tingle with warmth.

Draco noses at Potter's skin, pleased with his response and eager for another kiss.

"Isn't there a kid waiting for us to save him in there?"

 

Although Draco knew it already, Potter provides even more proof that he's actually good at his job. It takes him less than half an hour to remove and reverse the curse, and in no time Draco has a shaking, stuttering Cluedo Moggins curled up on his desk when there is a perfectly comfortable sofa only a metre away -- he should know, he's slept on it enough times when the nights seemed especially long.

He sends his patronus winging away to find Anthia Dearmop while Potter and he stare at each other awkwardly over poor Cluedo's jittering head.

"Miss Dearmop, if you could escort your friend to Madam Pomfrey for an overnight inspection, please. He's absolutely fine by our estimation, but a medical professional’s opinion is always worthwhile."

She's in and out the room in a flash, and Draco's gaze never leaves Potter's the entire time.

In an ideal world, now would be the time where he shoves Potter against a wall, or onto his sofa, or across his desk -- he's not overly picky on the surface. He'd have his way with him in a frenzy of pent up energy and then collapse against him to enjoy their afterglow luxuriously together.

Now is not that time, though. Potter has a dangerous object to dispose of safely and a void to close, and Draco has an anxious Headmistress to appease.

Potter seems to realise this too, even though the way he's biting his lip says his thoughts have gone on a similar journey to Draco's.

"I'll come back this evening?" Potter asks. It's hopeful but sure. Only half a question really. "Meet you in your rooms?"

Draco thinks about reminding him he doesn't know the password to either the common room or Draco's quarters. He could protest at how presumptuous Potter is, but they both know they'll likely have tea spiked with a little something special and talk into the wee hours of the morning.

Instead, he tugs on the front of his robes to make sure they aren't rumpled, nods decisively once, pecks him on the cheek for good measure so Draco's mood won't be misunderstood and strides after his students.

After all, this is something worth experimenting with. Potter works ridiculous hours underneath the ministry, but Draco stays as late as he possibly can in his office anyway with plenty of marking to occupy himself. And some couples would fall apart with the distance, but London is only a floo ride away, and Draco has his own private fireplace in his quarters -- he'll need to get McGonagall's approval to add Potter to his visitors list, but he doesn't see that being an issue given her obvious favouritism. 

They're both stubborn enough to make this work if they want it enough.


End file.
